Old Wounds
by Ijemanja
Summary: Postep for 'Cambodia'. Kilmer has to face telling his mother what he has learned about his father's death – a situation that leads to a renewed connection between him and Frankie.
1. News from Home

NOTES: So, apparently the last two episodes of Threat Matrix weren't even aired at all in America. Which means that some people reading this won't know what's going on. Basically, what you need to know about the episode 'Cambodia' is that Kilmer's father went MIA during the Vietnam War, and he and his mother never found out what happened to him. Kilmer's mother waited for 20 years before moving on and remarrying. In Cambodia, Kilmer finds a guy he believes could be his father. As it turns out, the guy is instead a friend of his father's, who was deeply affected when he witnessed the elder Kilmer's death (he stepped on a landmine). John comes home with his father's military dog tags, and having finally learned what really happened to his father all those yeas ago. This story picks up after the episode ends, soon after Kilmer has returned to the US.

SUMMARY: Post-ep for 'Cambodia'. Kilmer has to face telling his mother what he has learned about his father's death - a situation that leads to a renewed connection between him and Frankie.

SPOILERS: Big ones for 'Cambodia', obviously. All other episodes are fair game, though no specific references to those eps come to mind.

RATING: PG

AUTHOR: Ijemanja

TITLE: Old Wounds

* * *

PART ONE - News from Home

'You heading home soon?' Frankie stood in the doorway of his office.

Kilmer looked up briefly from his computer screen. 'In a while.'

'Is that your report?'

He gave a grunt of confirmation.

'It can wait 'till tomorrow, can't it?' He didn't respond, and she went on, 'Don't take this the wrong way, but you look terrible.'

At that, he wiped a hand over his face and propped his face against it. He looked up at her in resignation.

'It's just the jetlag.'

She nodded as she came around the desk and perched next to him. 'I'm sure exhaustion is a large part of it. The emotional rollercoaster you've been on these past few days hasn't helped, either.'

'Don't start,' he said tiredly.

'Okay,' she agreed easily, 'But I will point out that if all this had been going on with someone else, you would have already ordered them home by now. Don't be so hard on yourself.'

'I'll go,' he promised, though making no move to that effect.

She considered him quietly for a few moments. 'You don't want to talk about it, do you?'

He snorted. 'I know that's hard for you to believe, Ms. Psychobabble.'

'You forget how well I know you,' she replied, not taking offence at his sarcasm.

'No, actually, I don't.'

She didn't take offence at that, either, just looked at him evenly until he shook his head, wincing.

'Sorry,' he said, 'But stop trying to read me, okay?'

'I'm not. I just want to make sure you're okay.'

He sighed, and changed the subject. 'I called my mother before.'

'Oh?'

'Asked her if she could come up to visit sometime soon, like it was some spur of the moment idea.'

'You're going to tell her about your father?'

'I have to. She has a right to know what happened to her husband. No one cares about an incident in Cambodia thirty-five years ago - I won't be sharing any privileged information.'

It sounded to Frankie as if he was trying to sell her on the idea - or himself.

'It'll be difficult, though,' she suggested, 'Dredging up the past like this.'

'Yeah,' he breathed out heavily and sat back in his chair. 'Anyway, it's not exactly something you can do over the phone.'

She put her hand on his shoulder for a moment. 'You should go home, get some sleep. Hopefully come back in the morning looking less like the walking dead.'

He returned her smile, if somewhat half-heartedly.

'I will,' he promised, and this time she thought he might actually mean it.

She heard him start typing again as she left his office.

* * *

All the way home from the airport he let his mother talk, informing him of all the family news he wasn't currently up to date on. The recent goings-on at the women's shelter at which his mother volunteered; Jemima-the-cat's trip to the vet to investigate the rash on her belly; his cousin Mike's wedding plans, which had apparently stalled for reasons currently unknown; what his step-father was going to get up to with a weekend all to himself ('he's probably going to spend the whole time on the couch drinking beer and watching sports', his mother said - Kilmer knew there was a reason he liked the guy); and so it went on, easily filling the time.

And when they arrived at his apartment, he left his mother to freshen up while he made coffee, and then they sat down on the couch and he said, 'Mom, I have something I need to tell you.'

He'd tried to think of the best way to do it, but the truth was there was no easy way to say it, no tactful way to work up to the subject. So he just said it.

'It's about what happened to Dad.'

It was classified, mostly. After he eliminated what he couldn't tell his mother, and what he _wouldn't_ tell her, there wasn't much left to the story.

'A few weeks ago I found out... I met a man who knew Dad during the war. He was there when he died. He told me what happened.'

He related the story as he had heard it, and his mother asked him if he was sure. He showed her the dog tags, and then she tried not to cry, and he tried not to cry. And then after a while she hugged him and stroked his hair like he was a little boy.

'It was so long ago,' she said some time later as she frowned down at the metal tags in her hands. Her fingers slowly traced over the imprinted letters and numbers. 'I know you never blamed me when I started seeing Howard, but even after all those years I still felt guilty.'

'You deserved to be happy,' he said simply.

It was something he'd always firmly believed, and he'd never seen a reason to resent his mother for moving on, or the man with whom she'd made a new life.

'I know that now,' she spared him a smile. 'It took me a while to get it through my own thick skull, though.'

She took a deep breath and let it out. 'This must have been so hard for you, John. You've been carrying this around with you since it happened. And you were just a little boy.'

'I'm okay. I've had a few weeks to process it already. I didn't want to upset you, but...'

'I'm glad you told me,' she said with sudden conviction. 'All this time not knowing anything - thank you for finding out. Is there anything you haven't told me? How did all of this even happen?'

He'd known the questions would start eventually, and that he'd have to face giving his own mother the company line.

'I can't tell you much more,' he reluctantly told her, 'Especially about how I came by the information.'

'Well, I suppose the 'how' isn't so important,' she conceded. 'He was so young... so kind and brave. He never wanted to leave us, when he went away, but he wanted to do his duty. You've grown up so much like him, you know.'

'I wish I could have known him longer.'

She pressed the dog tags back into his hands then, saying, 'I wish he could have known you longer, too.'

* * *

'Feeling better, Mom?'

It was late afternoon, and Joyce Kilmer had just emerged from the bedroom after having a short nap.

'Much, thank you.'

He was seated at the dining table working on his laptop and she laid a hand briefly on his shoulder as she passed, heading into the kitchen area where she began opening and closing doors.

'It's all looking a bit bare, John,' she said, peering into the refrigerator. 'How do you live like this? Anyone would think you were a work-obsessed divorcee.'

He rolled his eyes, not bothering to answer or turn around. His mother was definitely feeling all right if she was making jokes at his expense.

'Do you even own a kettle?' she asked after another minute of banging going on behind him.

'You know I don't drink tea.'

'That's why I brought my own,' she said, her voice muffled as she searched through a particularly cluttered cabinet. 'But I thought at least you'd have... Oh, here it is.'

He got up and leaned over the counter to watch, as she emerged and held up a rather dusty teapot.

'This was your grandmother's, you know,' she reproached him as she took it to the sink to clean. 'You might take better care of it.'

He shrugged. 'I don't use it. Take it back, if you want.'

She shot him a look. 'That's hardly the point.' Scrubbing out the inside of the pot, she went on, 'I didn't remember seeing it here when I've visited before. I wondered for a moment if Frankie might have it.' She turned and waved suddenly in the direction of the stove, 'Would you put on some water to boil, please?'

'Sure.' He moved around the counter, found a small pan and stood beside her at the sink to fill it. 'Why would Frankie have it?' he asked, as he set the pan on the stove.

'Oh, I wouldn't have minded. I just thought things must have gotten mixed up when you separated.'

'Mostly we just ended up with our own stuff.'

'All right, I was just wondering,' she said defensively as she dried the now-sparkling clean teapot. Setting it down she went on, 'Now, are you sure I can't make you some tea?'

'What kind is it, some weird herbal stuff?'

She moved out of the kitchen and across to the bedroom, where her luggage was, calling over her shoulder, 'I brought green tea, which is good for digestion and cholesterol, and elderflower and lemon, which is refreshing and invigorating.'

'I think I'll pass,' he said when she reappeared.

By now the water on the stove was boiling, and she set to work pouring it into the pot and then measuring out the tea. She replaced the lid and left it to steep for a while.

'You haven't told me how Frankie is lately.'

'She's fine, Mom.'

'Is she seeing anyone?'

'I don't know, jeez,' he made a face.

'I'm sorry, but friends talk about these things, don't they? And you're always telling me you're friends now. 'Friends and colleagues' I believe were your exact words last time the subject came up.'

'If Frankie has a new boyfriend I don't think her first thought will be to run and tell her ex-husband.'

'Well I know _you're_ not seeing anyone.' She tutted. 'I don't think you do anything but work, do you?'

'Lately it doesn't seem like it,' he admitted.

She sighed. 'Will I get to see Frankie this weekend? It's been so long since I last saw her.'

'Mom you do remember that we're divorced, don't you?'

She looked away. 'I worry about her sometimes. She hasn't got any family left - she's got no one.'

'She has people,' he protested. 'She has friends, she has...'

'You?' she prompted, a hint of triumph in her expression.

He rolled his eyes. 'Yes, but not like that.'

She held up her hands. 'Like what? I'm not saying anything. I was just thinking it would be nice to see her since I'm here, that's all.'

She turned away with a slightly hurt expression, and despite the fact that he knew it was feigned, he couldn't help feeling a little bad.

'Listen, why don't I see if she's free for dinner tonight? Will that get you off my back?'

'That would be nice, dear,' she said, smiling as she poured her tea. 'It would give us all a chance to catch up.'

* * *

'Hi, it's me,' he identified himself when she picked up the phone.

Frankie sighed, thinking wistfully of the nice, relaxing weekend she had planned. 'Do I need to come in?'

'Nope, actually this isn't about work.'

'Well, this is new.'

'You know my mom's visiting?' he cut to the chase.

'That's right,' she sat down on the nearest chair and rested her elbows on her knees. 'You talked to her about your father? How did it go?'

'Fine. It was fine,' he said, but in such a way that she knew 'fine' actually meant 'awful'.

'Do you want to talk about it?' she asked.

'Not really,' he said flatly.

'So...?'

He proceeded to tell her why he was calling, and she soon found herself smiling.

'You sound a little desperate,' she teased.

'I don't know what you're talking about. Feel free to make up any flimsy excuse you want to get out of coming.'

'What makes you think I don't have plans - real ones?'

'Do you?'

She looked across the room to where her gym bag was sitting by the door, and took a moment to consider how pathetic her life was, before confessing, 'I was going to go work out and then pick up some Thai on the way home. Does that count?'

'Not even close. Come have dinner with me and my mom. She'd really like to see you.'

'She's laying on the guilt, isn't she?'

'It's practically an artform for her,' he groaned.

Amused, she decided to let him off the hook. 'Okay, I'll come take some of the pressure off. But you owe me one,' she added.

'Fine,' he replied quickly. 'I'll see you around seven?'

'I'll be there.'

end part one

* * *

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	2. Polite Conversation

NOTES: To the reviewer who asked, 'will there be any action in this story', the answer is, 'not the kind you're thinking of'. ;)

No, this story is really just a short little thing, purely about the characters, and what might happen to them after the episode ends, and they all go home for the day. If that's not what people are after in a story, then this really won't be their cup of tea, that's all. It's all good. Btw, thanks to those who reviewed - much appreciated, ta.

Also, there's just one more part to go after this one. Look for it to be posted sometime in the next few days.

SUMMARY: Post-ep for 'Cambodia'. Kilmer has to face telling his mother what he has learned about his father's death - a situation that leads to a renewed connection between him and Frankie.

SPOILERS: Big ones for 'Cambodia', obviously. All other episodes are fair game, though no specific references to those eps come to mind.

RATING: PG

AUTHOR: Ijemanja

TITLE: Old Wounds

* * *

PART TWO - Polite Conversation

'Frankie, it's so good to see you!' Joyce exclaimed, coming out of the kitchen with arms outstretched.

Kilmer hung up Frankie's coat as the two women greeted each other warmly, then followed as his mother drew Frankie away from the front door. He couldn't help but notice how familiar it all seemed. They'd always gotten along well - a relief for him, naturally not having wanted his wife to be feuding with his family. Joyce Kilmer had always been the mothering type with everyone, and upon meeting her future daughter-in-law years ago had apparently decided she'd found something of a lost lamb in need of adoption. Frankie had borne the treatment from her mother-in-law well; Kilmer had always suspected that she secretly enjoyed it.

Now, watching them chatting in the kitchen while his mother put the final touches on the meal, he was put in mind of the family gatherings he'd taken Frankie to. His mother had always welcomed Frankie warmly into the proceedings, never letting her feel out of place or awkward.

'John, don't just stand there, come and help,' Joyce admonished him then, shaking him from his thoughts.

His mother had already put Frankie to work setting the table, so he set about opening the bottle of wine she'd brought over, and finding some glasses.

They had just sat down to eat when Joyce immediately rose again.

'We forgot the salt and pepper,' she said.

'I'll get it -' he offered, rising too, but his mother waved him off, already halfway back in to the kitchen.

'Never mind dear, stay where you are.'

Frankie leaned across the table towards him and spoke in a low voice.

'I can't believe you made your mother cook. She's supposed to be your guest.'

'She insisted!' he hissed back. 'I thought we were going to go out somewhere, or order in.'

Joyce returned then and caught the gist of the exchange.

'Oh, I wanted to remind John what home-cooking tastes like,' she explained as she settled herself back at the table. 'But it was all a bit last minute, actually, otherwise I would have sent John out for some groceries. It seems like he lives off canned food and frozen meals, and whatever he can have delivered, judging by the stack of menus by the phone.'

'Don't forget cereal,' he added around a mouthful of his mother's casserole. 'And beer.'

'That doesn't sound so bad, actually,' Frankie said, smiling.

'Oh, not you, too,' Joyce sounded dismayed. 'I hoped you at least would be more sensible, Frankie.'

Kilmer laughed.

'Nah, she's worse than I am.'

'At least I can cook when the occasion calls for it,' she retorted.

'I cook!'

'Setting the timer on the microwave doesn't count as cooking.'

'Sure it does,' he grinned.

'Well, I think you both need to take better care of yourselves,' Joyce broke in before Frankie could respond. 'You both have bad diets and highly stressful jobs... You'll be lucky if one of you doesn't have a heart attack.'

At this dire prediction, Frankie and Kilmer looked at each other.

'My bet's on you,' she said. 'You're older and male.'

'The odds are in your favour this time,' he agreed.

They laughed as Joyce threw her hands up in disgust and pronounced them both to be hopeless.

'You know, I wouldn't be so worried if you didn't work such long hours. Frankie, do you spend as much time at this job as my son?'

She nodded. 'About the same. But,' she shrugged, 'It's worth it.'

'Right,' Kilmer added. 'It's important stuff we're doing, Mom.'

'At the expense of your health? Your personal life?' Joyce asked dubiously.

'Oh, here we go,' he breathed, knowing what was probably coming next.

Joyce ignored him and turned to Frankie.

'Frankie, what do you do for fun, to relax?'

She looked put on the spot for a moment, but then came up with, 'I... read, I work out, I go shopping - normal things.'

'But do you get out much? Because I know John doesn't, he'd rather spend his time in a vegetative state, watching sports.'

'Hey, leave me out of this,' he protested.

Frankie, meanwhile, merely replied, 'Sometimes. Not as much as I'd like.'

Kilmer was finding the exchange rather entertaining. Yes, his mother was the, well, mothering kind, but she'd always had her own unique brand of tough love. Brow-beating was one of her specialities.

'You see, this I don't understand. You're a young woman, you're beautiful,' Joyce was saying, 'Isn't she, John?'

'Yep.' He hid a smile as the woman in question shot him a dark look.

'You should be making the most of your life. There isn't anyone special at the moment?'

Frankie spared him a very different kind of look, then, before smiling faintly down into her wine glass.

'Not at the moment, no.'

'Anyone in mind, then?'

Frankie was handling the third degree with her usual, calm demeanour, seemingly unperturbed - but Kilmer nevertheless decided to speak up.

'Frankie interrogates people for a living, Mom, you're not going to crack her.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' came the response. 'We're just having a polite conversation, aren't we?' This was directed at Frankie.

'Of course,' she replied immediately. 'So Joyce, how's Howard these days? Retirement treating him well?'

He rolled his eyes as they dedicated the next few minutes to small talk.

When they'd all finished eating, and their wine glasses were empty, they rose to clear the table.

'I'm afraid there's nothing for afters. I was lucky to scrape together enough for the meal,' Joyce said apologetically, casting her eyes in her son's direction.

'That's fine,' Frankie answered quickly.

'Nonsense, it's not dinner without dessert. John, why don't you go out and pick up some ice-cream?'

'Why don't we all go? There's a place just a few streets away.'

'Oh, I don't want to be going out at this time of night,' she protested. 'Frankie and I will stay and clean up - it will give us a chance to talk some more.'

He smiled inwardly at the slightly panicked look on Frankie's face at that, and moved to pick up his car keys and wallet.

'Okay then, I'll be back in a little while.'

* * *

As she and Joyce moved around the kitchen cleaning up, Frankie remained wary about what else was to come, now they were alone. Joyce seemed to have no qualms about delving into Frankie's personal life in front of her son, after all. Of course, having known the woman for a number of years now, it hadn't come as much of a surprise to Frankie.

She wondered whether it wasn't all leading up to a more pointed discussion about the possible ways in which she was toying with Kilmer's heart, and how, if she still wanted him, she shouldn't have left him in the first place. It was, perhaps, ungracious of her to suspect Joyce was thinking anything of the sort, but Frankie hadn't become a top profiler by expecting the best from people.

'You know,' she said casually as she stacked plates in the dishwasher, 'We really should be leaving this for John to do.'

'It would probably do him good, you're right,' Joyce agreed, scrubbing at an oven dish in the sink. 'But I must admit, I don't really mind looking after things while I'm here. It's a mother's prerogative, after all. He has to fend for himself the rest of the time.'

It wasn't said in an accusatory manner, but, feeling slightly on-edge, Frankie couldn't help taking it that way.

'Joyce,' she began, 'About what we were discussing at dinner. I think -'

'Oh, never mind about that,' the older woman cut her off, shaking her head in dismissal. 'Far be it for me to tell you what's best for you, Frankie.'

It was a much more subdued Joyce than the one Frankie had seen over dinner, berating her and Kilmer over their lifestyle choices. Looking at the woman sedately washing out a wine glass, she began to wonder whether that might have been a show - and if it hadn't been for her own benefit, then it must have been for Kilmer's.

'It's all right,' she said, 'I was just going to say that you shouldn't worry about me. I'm pretty happy with the way my life is at the moment.'

'Well, good. Lord knows, you should be happy, dear.'

Joyce began passing her the dry glassware, and gestured to a shelf above her head where it belonged. This went on, though, for only a few seconds when Joyce gasped suddenly.

'What is that?' she demanded. 'On your stomach, Frankie. My God, what happened?'

Looking down, she realised her top had ridden up as she raised her arms to reach the shelf, and some of her midriff was exposed - including the scar near her left hip. It was this Joyce was now staring at.

Quickly pulling her shirt back down into place, Frankie thought how best to explain it. It had only been a few months since the mission in Mexico that had turned into a hostage situation. The bullet wound had healed without complication, but the puckered scar tissue was still an angry red. She knew it would fade with time, but for now it was a dramatic - not to mention ugly - reminder of that day.

And it seemed that Joyce knew exactly what she was looking at.

'That's from a bullet, isn't it? You were shot?' she asked, incredulous and horrified at the same time.

For someone who had little knowledge of the kind of life she lead, Frankie knew it must seem very serious. She hoped she'd still be able to make light of it.

'Battle scars,' she said simply, 'Sometimes they're unavoidable. It looks worse than it was, trust me.'

Joyce was shaking her head slowly, though, obviously disturbed.

'I'm sorry, I just can't believe it. Your job... you and John... it's crazy. You don't want me to worry, obviously, you downplay it, but you're in danger every day, aren't you?'

'In our line of work,' she reasoned, 'There are risks, yes, but -'

'You're fools,' Joyce said flatly, 'Both of you. It's so obvious that John still cares about you -'

'Joyce,' Frankie began, alarmed at the sudden shift in topic, and at the same time concerned at how upset the other woman seemed to be.

Joyce, though, pressed on regardless.

'I'm sorry, I was going to hold my tongue, but Frankie, if you've really moved on, then what are you doing here tonight?'

'Listen, of course we still care about each other,' Frankie managed to get out, 'It would be unnatural not to, especially now, working together so closely.'

'Yes, yes, but I know my son. I saw the way he was looking at you all through dinner. It's the same way he looked at you the first time he brought you home to meet me. What was it, five years ago?'

Frankie hesitated, then admitted, 'Six, actually.'

'It's been a while, hasn't it?' Joyce said, in a slightly calmer tone.

'It seems like it was a long time ago,' Frankie agreed.

'You know, I waited a long time after John's father disappeared. At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing - by my husband, by John, by myself. I certainly don't regret loving Joseph, but looking back I see that I spent too much time waiting, and not enough time... just getting on with things. It wasn't until after I met Howard that I came to see that.'

She had related all this quietly, but then she swallowed and looked up at Frankie.

'I'm only telling you this because I don't want that for John, and I don't think it's something you should be aiming for, either, Frankie. It's a cliché, I know, but you don't want to be my age and looking back on your life with regret.'

Frankie stared at the floor for a long moment following Joyce's speech.

Finally, she said, 'And you think my getting back together with John is the solution to everything?'

'Of course not. I'm saying get on with your life, regardless. If John isn't part of what you want, then go find out what is. Either way, at least you'll be moving on.'

While talking about this with Kilmer's mother certainly wasn't ideal, she also couldn't deny that there was some truth to what the older woman was saying. And while Frankie wasn't one who shared her private thoughts easily, or often, she felt like she should, here and now.

'You're right, you know - I haven't let him go. I thought I had, that it was absolutely over. But then we started working together again...' She shook her head. 'It's complicated.'

'Things often are.'

There was a pause then, until Frankie, curious, asked, 'Do you plan on having this same conversation with John?'

Joyce sighed. 'I doubt he'd listen to me. For some reason he's never really seemed to like discussing his love-life with me.'

'Can't imagine why,' Frankie replied dryly.

'Odd, isn't it?' Joyce mused, then suddenly straightened. 'Well, now that we have that out of the way, can I make you some tea?'

end part two

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	3. Distance and Time

NOTES: This tooka lotlonger to post than I expected - sorry! Thanks to all those still reading, and ta also for the reviews and feedback I've been getting - much appreciated, cheers. Just one short epilogue to come. Won't take nearly as long to post, honest!

RATING: PG

AUTHOR: Ijemanja

TITLE: Old Wounds

* * *

PART THREE - Distance and Time 

Kilmer returned home, dessert in hand, to find Frankie and his mother ensconced again at the table with cups of tea.

Frankie looked up at him as he entered, her face propped in one hand.

'We're discussing the state of my kidneys,' she said.

'I was just telling Frankie how drinking coffee at all hours of the day can affect the renal system,' Joyce explained.

'She got you with the green tea?' he asked, peering over Frankie's shoulder at what she was drinking.

'It's not that bad,' she smiled up at him.

'She was pushing it on me all afternoon. I don't buy it.'

'So what flavour did you get?' she asked, indicating the bag he had dumped on the kitchen counter.

'A classic,' he replied, and pulled out the carton to show her. 'This okay, Mom?'

'Hm?' Joyce looked over at him, seemingly distracted. 'Oh, yes, fine dear.'

So they all sat around the table with a dish of cookies'n'cream, but the mood was subdued compared to earlier. He couldn't help wondering what he'd missed. Something had obviously passed between his mother and Frankie while he was out.

He noticed his mother glancing at her watch. He thought she was looking tired, too.

'If the two of you will excuse me, I told Howard I would call to say goodnight,' she said, suddenly getting to her feet. 'And after that I think I'll probably turn in.'

He stood up as well.

'You sure, Mom?'

'You know how it is, travelling - wears you right out.'

'Goodnight, Joyce,' Frankie said, coming over to her. 'It was nice seeing you.'

'You too, dear,' she replied, giving Frankie a hug, and then turning for her son to kiss her cheek.

'G'Night Mom.'

They watched her leave the room, and then turned back to each other.

'Well, my mother's unsubtle attempts at prying into your personal life aside, that wasn't so bad, was it?'

'You know I've always liked your mother.' Frankie said diplomatically, and began gathering the dishes and spoons from the table.

He helped, following her into the kitchen.

'Yeah, but by the time I got home you had that look like you were about to start beating your head on the table.'

'What she lacks in subtlety she makes up for in persistence. I did mention you were going to owe me for this, didn't I?'

'That bad, huh? What did you talk about while I was gone?'

She hesitated, and then said, 'We had a fairly interesting discussion.'

He sobered then as he stood at the sink, rinsing out the bowls one by one.

'She seemed upset. And going to bed before nine is early even for her. Did you talk about my father?'

He looked at her directly, waiting for an answer.

'She mentioned your father, you're right, though only briefly,' she admitted. 'It started, though, because while we were cleaning up in here my shirt lifted up a bit and she saw the scar on my stomach, from Mexico. She knew it was a bullet wound - she was pretty disturbed by it.'

'Oh,' he said. It wasn't what he'd been expecting. He knew Frankie sometimes couldn't help trying to get people to talk. Now, he found himself wondering how bad the scar was. 'Let me see?'

She raised her eyebrows at that, but pulled up the hem of her shirt.

'I won't be wearing a bikini anytime soon,' she said ruefully.

He shrugged. 'I've seen worse.'

'Of course you have. You've got a couple of your own. It's not something your mother's used to seeing, though, I imagine.'

'Actually,' he contradicted, 'Back home she helps run a women's shelter. I'm sure she's seen much worse than that, too. More likely, it was because it's you, Frankie - someone she cares about.'

Frankie glanced away, her face carefully schooled, but he'd known her long enough to know she was not unaffected.

'She still sends me Christmas cards, you know,' she said after a while.

'Once you're on the list, there's no escape,' he joked gently.

'I guess I always assumed she'd blame me for what happened. With us.'

Her eyes met his briefly and then flickered away again.

'No. Well,' he clarified, 'She was kind of pissed at the time. But mostly at me.'

'Still, I'm sorry I upset her. On top of what she found out today...'

'It's not your fault. And really, you shouldn't worry. My mother's a pretty tough lady, in case you hadn't noticed. She'll be raring to go at the crack of dawn tomorrow. Plans on dragging me all over the Smithsonian and God knows where else.'

Finally she nodded and offered him a small smile, but didn't speak.

'Hey,' he said to break the moment of silence, 'Why don't you help me finish this off?'

He nodded towards the open bottle of wine standing on the counter, about a quarter full.

She agreed after a moment's pause, and he emptied the bottle into two of the glasses from dinner which were drying beside the sink. He gestured for her to precede him into the living room, where they settled on the couch.

They sipped without speaking for a few minutes. Frankie slipped her shoes off and tucked her feet under her, turning towards him.

'I know you didn't want to talk about it the other week, when it had just happened,' she began, 'And you blew me off on the phone this afternoon -'

'I did not _blow you off._ My father?' he shrugged, looking down into his wine. 'There's not much to say.'

'Well, you know I'm here if you need to...'

'I know.' He sighed. 'Look, he went missing so long ago... It was mostly... a relief, what I found out over there. He died doing what he believed in. He didn't rot in some POW camp for years, waiting for rescue, and he didn't abandon us. He would have come home to my mother and me if he could have.'

'All of that's true,' she said carefully. 'Still... a part of you was hoping you'd find him alive, wasn't it?'

He sighed, and conceded, 'I guess, stupidly, yeah, I did. Despite what it would mean if he'd been alive and well in Cambodia all this time.'

'A part of you will always be that boy who just wants his father back.'

'You know how that feels,' he said quietly.

'Yeah,' she replied simply.

They were quiet for a time, then. Frankie sipped at her wine and he followed her example, considering her over the rim of his glass.

No one had ever known him like she did. Sometimes, it was just plain annoying. At other times it could be comforting. He was glad she was here - even though she'd gotten into a heavy conversation while he was out getting dessert that he still didn't know all the specifics of, and even though he'd had reservations about the whole thing, and had only invited Frankie to appease his mother.

After all, there was still awkwardness there at times. More often there wasn't, though, and that just made the situation worse. Like now, when they were together and it felt simple and natural, and they weren't too busy trying to avert some disaster from happening, and the details of their chequered history didn't seem to matter so much.

More and more of late he was finding himself wondering whether she felt the same.

During this extended silence Frankie set her empty glass down on the coffee table and then reached down to slip her shoes back on.

'I should get going.' Still bent over, her hair was falling forward and covering her face.

He stopped her when she would have risen with a hand on her wrist.

She sat back again and looked at him. He, though, was focused on the placement of his hand. His thumb brushed back and forth on the inside of her arm until she covered his hand with her own, stopping the slight caress. He raised his eyes to hers.

'Thanks for coming over tonight.'

'Your welcome,' she responded cautiously, gently taking her hands back into her lap.

'Listen,' he began, looking away again, focusing on a safe spot somewhere over the coffee table. 'Things are never going to be normal with us, are they? At work we just - we behave like we're friends, like what's past is in the past. But it's not like that, really. It's -'

'It's still complicated,' she filled in. 'I know.'

'But we knew it was going to be like this. We knew it could be weird, working closely together, in a stressful job, with the risks we take on a daily basis... And I think we do all right, under the circumstances.'

'What circumstances would they be?' Frankie asked warily.

He knew she didn't yet understand his line of reasoning.

'Listen, just because we don't let any personal feelings get in the way, it doesn't mean that they're not still there. That's what I mean.'

'Well of course,' she admitted, her manner still cautious. 'When you're out in the field, in danger, it can be terrifying.'

'Yeah, well the feeling's mutual. Like your little adventure down in Mexico. The whole time you were held, I was going crazy.'

'You did your job.'

'Well, I'm a professional - I hide crazy well.'

She laughed a little at that, and her guard was down, so when his hand touched her waist she froze, surprised.

'And when you got shot, and you fell down in my arms, bleeding, I don't think my heart started beating properly again for hours.'

As he spoke his hand shifted a little, until his fingers met bare skin under her shirt.

She gasped ever so slightly, and he caught the small intake of breath. It had been so long since he'd touched her like this, in a manner that couldn't be passed off as platonic. She didn't remain frozen, placing one hand on his wrist at her side, and with the other reached up a hand to touch his face. Her touch and expression were soft, but her next words were as blunt and direct as if he was facing her in an interrogation room.

'You making a move on me, Kilmer?'

'What, am I being too subtle?'

He squeezed her waist slightly. The bare skin under his hand was so tempting, smooth and silky, he wanted to rediscover all that familiar territory. He wanted to find that scar he had only glimpsed briefly and explore it more thoroughly...

Her thumb brushed lightly over his mouth as she said, 'You know, this part was never our problem. Have you thought that it might not be a good idea to rip open all those old wounds? They only just healed up, you know.'

'I've thought about it a lot. As, I suspect, have you.' At that, she indicated her assent with the slightest motion of her head. 'But the thing is Frankie,' he ran a hand through his hair in frustration, 'We've just been in this... holding pattern. It can't just go on like this.'

She frowned suddenly.

'Have you been speaking to your mother about this?'

'God, no. Why,' his face became suspicious suddenly, 'Have you? Jeez, I never should have left the two of you alone. What'd she say to you?'

'Well, she said quite a lot. But the main gist of it was that I should just make up my damn mind. Get on with things.'

'Well, she has a point, there.'

'On the other hand, it's not like we could just pick up where we left off.'

'I know that. You're worried that we'd fall back into old habits.'

'Yeah.' She let out a short laugh, somewhat rueful. 'But you know what they say about habits.'

He closed the distance between them then, and she let him, and he found that kissing her again was just how he remembered it - so achingly familiar he just wanted more and more. And yet, it was marked by something new, some new flavour perhaps best defined as the time and distance between them.

He moved his hand now over her stomach just as he'd been longing to - finding and tracing over the marked flesh where the bullet had entered.

Her back arched at his touch and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back fiercely. Her fingers sifted through the hair at the back of his head.

His mouth moved to her throat then. He kissed the hollow of her jaw, and suckled lightly at the pulse point there. It had been a long time, but he remembered it all - every little thing that made her crazy. Her hands fisted reflexively in his hair, enough to make him wince.

'Sorry,' she murmured with an unabashed grin, easing her grip. 'We were getting a bit carried away.'

'Well like you said, we never did have a problem with this part.'

He would have kissed her again, but she leaned back.

'You know, your mother is...'

He dragged a hand over his face and sighed.

'Currently residing in my bedroom, which is right through that door over there,' he finished. 'Yeah, I know.'

'It's... not necessarily a bad thing,' she said, sitting back, putting a little distance between them. 'We don't rush into anything this way. We can take some time and gain some perspective.'

'Well sure, as long as you aren't planning on waking up tomorrow morning remembering all the many reasons why you hate my guts.'

'Well, it's not part of my usual morning routine, but you never know.' She smiled and looked away. 'I should go.'

He didn't stop her this time, but rose with her.

'Want me to walk you to your car? Where are you parked?'

'I'll be fine. I'm just across the street.'

He caught her fingers in his as they reached the front door.

'Hey. Don't you think, if this is doomed to failure a second time around, it should at least be for new reasons, instead of all those old ones?'

'Do you think that's possible? Are we so different now?' she returned.

He leaned his forearm against the door and ran his hand over his hair.

'When you left me, I thought it was too late to do anything. I figured you already hated me, and you were already gone, and I was harbouring some pretty deep resentments of my own, and so that was it. Now? While I don't plan on giving you a reason to leave me again, all the same, if you did? I'd go after you.'

'That's a pretty good answer.'

'You, on the other hand, are still playing everything close to your chest.'

'Noticed that, did you?'

She considered him evenly for a moment, and he wondered whether she was going to say anything at all, or leave him hanging.

'I wonder,' she said finally, 'Whether you'd be surprised to find out exactly how much time I spend hating you on a daily basis. It's a lot less than you seem to think it is.'

'You never hated me.'

It was with a sudden certainty that he said it - a certainty he'd never felt before. Before, there had been too much uncertainty, resentment, guilt... And the doubt that she would ever really forgive him, ever give him a second chance.

'It wouldn't have hurt so much back then if I did. And...' she paused and took a breath, 'This wouldn't seem like such a bad idea if I did now.'

'A bad idea?' he parroted.

'A very bad idea,' she confirmed.

He kissed her, pressing her up against the door. She hadn't been expecting it, and he took advantage of it, sweeping his tongue through her open mouth. It was deep and thorough and when he pulled away, just as abruptly, he noted how she stayed propped up against the door for a moment before pushing away.

'Sorry,' he tried not to grin, 'Couldn't help myself.'

She accepted her coat which he passed to her then, and slung it over her arm. She met his eye boldly.

'I don't know where you got the idea that you should ever apologise for kissing me like that.'

And with one last glance that was as ambiguous as it was loaded, she slipped out the door.

* * *

The next day, as he had predicted, his mother was more her usual self. He took her out for breakfast and then they did touristy things for the rest of the day until the time of her departure drew near.

'It wouldn't kill you to eat more fresh vegetables, John,' she was saying as they left the foyer of his building - it was the latest in a long litany of instructions.

He just snorted as he lugged her suitcase to the curb where the cab was waiting.

'Don't make a fuss,' she said, 'Just do what your mother tells you, all right?'

He sighed.

'Sure, Mom.'

She patted his shoulder.

'Good boy. Now, don't wait so long before visiting again. The holidays are coming up,' she reminded him.

She raised up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

'And listen,' she went on rather more hesitantly, 'About Frankie, I think you -'

'Don't start, Mom.' He forestalled her with raised hands. 'Anyway,' he went on slyly, 'I'm way ahead of you there.'

He grinned at the look of surprise on her face.

'Are you now? Well I notice you waited until the cab got here to mention that,' she said dryly.

'Hey, so did you,' he protested. 'Besides, you know very well I'd rather pull out my own tongue than talk about it with you.'

'Oh yes I know, darling. Although you could humour me. I'm not getting any younger, you know.'

'Sure you are.' He moved away then and opened the car door for her, saying pointedly, 'Have a good trip home, Mom.'

She pursed her lips but climbed into the back seat of the cab.

'I was serious about the holidays, though,' she said as he shut the door after her.

'I know, Mom. I'll see what I can do.'

'Good. Look after yourself, John,' she said, giving him one last wave farewell as the driver pulled away.

He shook his head, watching the cab drive off. He loved his mother, but sometimes, with her it was like pulling teeth. Still, he reasoned as he headed back inside, the weekend had not been nearly as difficult to get through as he feared.

The elevator was still waiting on the ground floor and so he walked right on. As he reached to press his floor number, he wondered whether he should call Frankie.

end part three

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Feedback is good karma.  



	4. Terms and Conditions

NOTES: So the epilogue just kept growing longer and then I realised what I had was really a whole other chapter _and_ an epilogue, so I split it into two parts. Here's part four, and the epilogue (really, this time) will follow shortly.

AUTHOR: Ijemanja

TITLE: Old Wounds

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PART FOUR - Terms and Conditions

Frankie walked up the stairs to her second floor apartment with her cell phone pressed to her ear.

'I'm just getting home from the gym,' she was telling him. 'Remember how you called me yesterday to save you from having to spend an entire evening alone with your mother and I didn't get to work out?'

'Did I mention how grateful I was to you for making such a sacrifice?'

'You're welcome. It was... an interesting evening. So how's your mom today?' she asked, switching to a neutral topic as she propped the phone between her shoulder and ear so she could unlock her front door.

'Fine. I saw her off to the airport just now.'

She dropped her gym bag just inside the door as she entered and headed into the kitchen.

'So you think she's going to be okay?' she asked. 'About your father?'

'I think we both will be.'

'Good.'

'Yeah. So...' he began.

'So?' she repeated, beginning to smile.

'So... tell me, how's your perspective looking in the harsh light of day?'

She opened the fridge and bent over the open door, staring unseeing at the contents.

'Well I've been thinking about it all day,' she said, 'And there would have to be a few ground rules.'

'How did I know you'd say something like that?'

'I guess you know me pretty well. Want to hear them?'

'Wait, before we get into it, I just have to ask you something.'

'Okay.'

'What are you wearing?'

She snorted and grabbed a bottle of water.

'My 'I heart Kilmer' t-shirt, of course,' she quipped, shutting the refrigerator and propping herself on a stool at the counter.

'I hear those sell like hot-cakes on e-bay. That's okay,' he went on, 'You don't have to tell me. I've got a pretty good imagination.'

She could hear the grin in his voice, and couldn't resist asking, 'What've you come up with?'

'It involves a feather boa and high heels and not much else.'

'Sure, because that's what I always work out in.'

She rolled her eyes and took a mouthful of water.

'In my head it's a different kind of work out.'

She swallowed carefully.

'You're feeling pretty confident aren't you?'

'Well if you're talking terms it means you're willing to make a deal. So let's deal.'

'Don't speak so soon,' she chided, 'You haven't heard my conditions yet.'

'So lay 'em on the table.'

'Okay, well first of all, obviously, we'd have to be discrete.'

'Well sure,' he replied easily. 'We're professionals, aren't we? Of course, not to burst your bubble there, Frankie, but most people have figured out that we used to have a thing. The fact that we share a last name might have tipped them off.'

She raised her eyebrows at his tone, but remained unfazed.

'The problem isn't what people know about our history, it's what they know about right now,' she reasoned.

'Well in the interest of not feeding the rumour mill, I think I can probably manage not to jump you in the middle of the Vault.'

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

'Good.'

'And how about if I promise not to use my position as your superior to extract sexual favours from you? Well, not at work, anyway.'

'Perfect.'

'You, on the other hand, will just have to stop flirting with me so blatantly all the time in public. People might get ideas.'

'I'll try to restrain myself,' she said dryly.

'Then I think we've reached an agreement on that point. What other conditions have you got for me? If I know you, Mrs Kilmer, and I think we've established that I do, then it's a lengthy list.'

'Well to start with you can stop calling me 'Mrs Kilmer'.'

'Now why,' he wondered, 'Would I do that? Come on, admit it, it's kinda romantic.'

'No, it's not,' she corrected him. 'It's arrogant and patronising, and I think you enjoy it a little too much.'

'That's because it bugs you.'

'Which is the only reason you do it.'

'That, and it's your name.'

She sighed, exasperated, and debated for a moment reminding him that 'Mrs Kilmer' was his mother's name, and that her own title was in fact 'Special Agent', and had nothing whatsoever to do with her marital status.

She might have told him this, but he started to speak again.

'You got any more 'conditions' I'm actually going to agree to?'

'I'm not marrying you again, you know,' she blurted out.

There was a pause.

'Where did that come from?'

'You wanted to hear my conditions, that's one of them. I'm not marrying you again.'

'Well who's asking?'

'Would you be serious?'

There was another pause on the other end of the line.

'No I think you're right,' he said. 'It's not like it worked so well the last time.'

She sighed again and leaned her forehead on her hand.

'It's very difficult to have a conversation with you about this when you keep making jokes,' she said reproachfully.

'Sorry, but I honestly wasn't planning on proposing any time soon. At this point, I'd be happy if you let me take you to dinner.'

'Dinner?'

'Yeah. We could continue our negotiations,' he offered, 'Only in person, with candlelight, and snooty waiters and ridiculously over-priced food.'

'Sounds romantic,' she said, smiling in spite of herself.

'Well that is definitely the idea.'

'I'm trying to remember the last time we went on a date.'

'Well whenever it was, and however well it went, this'll be better.'

'Promise?'

'Promise.'

'Okay,' she found herself agreeing. She shrugged. 'We've come this far, haven't we?'

'Against all odds. We've somehow managed to get through a marriage and a divorce and working together, all without killing each other.'

'Dinner's the least we can do,' she said. 'Dinner, and then we can... negotiate the rest.'

'I'm looking forward to it.'

'What about you?' she asked suddenly. 'What are you bringing to the table? You can't tell me you don't have a few conditions of your own.'

'Just the one, actually. The negotiations are fun, but when it comes down to it, I think we just have to be honest. Talk to each other. And when you piss me off, which you inevitably will, or when I piss you off - because let's face it, that's even more likely - then just tell me, and we'll deal with it. See, we used to play these mind games. I don't want us to go through all that again. No games - that's my one condition.'

'It's a good one,' she said soberly.

She stared down at the water sloshing against the sides of the plastic bottle as she turned it idly in place. She remembered the way it had been when they were married. Back when it sometimes seemed like he would have rather eaten glass than talked to her like this, or even admitted anything was wrong.

'Frankie?' he prompted when she remained silent.

'Sometimes I forget you can actually be insightful when you want to be,' she said.

'Me and Dr Phil. Good old Texas boys,' he drawled, laying the accent on thick.

'If you tell me we need to 'get real',' she replied, amused, 'I'm hanging up.'

'Don't do that,' he implored gently. 'I promise, no pop-psychology references. I know how much they bug you.'

'I'd appreciate it,' she said, smiling. She switched the phone to her other ear and went on, 'You know, I wish we were having this conversation face to face.'

'I could come over,' he offered.

'You could.'

And she suddenly wanted him to, very much. She would have liked to have seen his face when he asked her to dinner before, or that particular smile she knew must have been on his face when he flirted with her about what she was wearing.

She would have liked to be close enough to look into his eyes, close enough to touch, when she spoke to him about these things that were so important to whatever future they might have together.

'Though come to think of it,' she amended then, 'If you were here, we probably wouldn't be doing all that much conversing.'

'Now who's feeling confident?'

Remembering the way he had kissed her the night before, deep and insistent, she smirked.

'Let's just say I'm going with my gut on that one.'

'Well I try and make it a point never to go against your gut.'

'I'll remember you said that the next time you completely disregard my opinion on something,' she said wryly.

'Well I said 'try'. Even your gut can't be right all the time, Frankie. And someone has to keep you honest.'

'And that's you?'

'Making sure my star profiler doesn't get an over-inflated ego? All part of the job, ma'am.'

'Speaking of over-inflated egos -' she began, but he hastily spoke over the top of her.

'Just out of curiosity, what's your professional opinion about us?'

'I'm going to dinner with you, aren't I?' she hedged. 'And consider yourself lucky, after that crack you just made.'

'Come on,' he urged, 'Honesty, remember? What's your gut telling you?'

She relented, knowing he had a point.

'Right this second? That you might be right. Honesty, openness... It won't solve all our problems but it's a good start. Ask me again tomorrow, though, and we'll see.'

'We can always head back to the negotiating table,' he added.

'Yes, there are still a few items on my list,' she told him, only half joking.

'Well don't think we won't be revisiting the marriage issue, sooner or later.'

'You won't get me to cave,' she warned.

'Never say never,' he said, his tone deceptively mild. 'Besides, I don't need to marry you. I know where you live, Mrs Kilmer.'

The way he said it, his voice low and smooth, was almost enough to make her shiver.

'Well don't think we won't be revisiting the Mrs Kilmer issue, either,' she said after drawing in a shaky breath. 'It's still on my list of demands.'

'Yeah, I'll bet it is.'

She could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

'Hey, since we're back to talking terms,' he went on, 'You think maybe we could work the feather boa thing in there somehow?'

She started to laugh, her shoulders shaking as she leant over the bench on her elbows.

'You never know,' she said. 'At this point, Mr Kilmer, anything's possible.'

end part four

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Feedback is good karma. 


	5. Epilogue

NOTES: Here we go, then, with the final instalment. Thanks for reading!

AUTHOR: Ijemanja

TITLE: Old Wounds

* * *

EPILOGUE

_(Six weeks later.)_

Terrorists never seemed to care whether it was Saturday morning and she wanted to sleep in.

The phone started ringing again for the second time in fifteen minutes as Frankie hastily buttoned up her blouse. She finished the last button and checked in the mirror on the wall above the phone to make sure she'd gotten them all as she reached for the receiver.

'Hello?'

'Frankie? It's Joyce Kilmer here.'

'Hi Joyce,' she replied after a slight hesitation. 'How are you?'

She had been expecting another, perhaps even more urgent, call from work, not this. She was very conscious of the fact that this was not the best of times to be chatting with Kilmer's mother.

Just then, she noticed the sound of the shower being shut off, and a moment later the bathroom door opening.

Joyce's reply to Frankie's polite inquiry, meanwhile, was shaping into a rather lengthy testimonial, which Frankie had to cut short.

'I'm sorry, Joyce,' she said apologetically, 'I'd love to talk but I'm afraid you've caught me at a bad time. I've just had a call from work...'

She frowned suddenly and turned. A series of muffled thumps and curses was coming from the bedroom.

'And I was just about to walk out the door, actually,' she finished distractedly, wondering what on earth was going on in there.

'On a Saturday? You poor thing. Well, I'll let you go. I was just calling to see how you were. I've spoken to John a few times since I saw you but you know how he is, and -'

'Frankie!' came a shout at that moment from the bedroom. 'Where the hell are my pants?'

She cringed. That was quite possibly the very worst thing he could have said.

She prayed that it hadn't been audible on the other end of the line.

'So I hope you don't mind my calling like this, out of the blue,' Joyce was saying.

It seemed Frankie's prayers had been answered. She heaved a mental sigh of relief as she assured the other woman that, no, she didn't mind at all.

'It's lovely to hear from you,' she added.

Meanwhile, she moved as far as the phone cord would allow so as to come into view of the open bedroom door. She waved her arms in the hope that the person currently still tearing apart her room, by the sound of it, might notice, and shut the hell up.

She couldn't very well yell back, 'they're under the coffee table,' after all.

'Just a case of bad timing, I'm afraid,' she finished.

He appeared from the bedroom then, wearing just his shorts with his hair still wet and sticking up everywhere from the shower. It would have been adorable, if he wasn't still so clearly oblivious to what was going on, and she hadn't felt like strangling him.

As he passed she finally managed to catch his attention and gestured at the phone she was holding to her ear.

'I'm sorry, _Joyce_,' she added extra emphasis on the name for his benefit, 'I really do have to go.'

She shook her head as he winced in sudden understanding.She held up a finger at him then, silently indicating he was not to go anywhere.

'All right then, dear. I was just calling to see how things were.'

'Why don't I call you back?' she suggested.

'Yes, good, sometime when you've got time for a nice long chat.'

'Okay,' she said, relieved that this awkward conversation was coming to an end, 'Well -'

'Oh, and Frankie?' Joyce broke in.

'Yes?'

'Tell that son of mine he needs to keep a closer eye on his things, will you?'

_Damn._

'All right,' she replied weakly. 'I will.'

Joyce said goodbye then, the amusement clear in her voice.

Frankie hung up and glared at Kilmer.

'Well that was a nice, humiliating way for your mother to find out about us.'

'What? How'd she know?'

'You're in my apartment at nine-thirty in the morning yelling about your pants. Somehow, I think she put two and two together.'

'Well, I was planning on filling her in sooner or later, anyway,' he shrugged.

'Oh I think you took care of that quite effectively just now.' She sighed and gestured. 'They're over there, by the way.'

'Hm? Oh.'

He moved around the sofa and retrieved his pants, and then went to get dressed.

'Hey,' he said as he reappeared less than a minute later, this time fully clothed, 'You're pretty much guaranteed an invitation to Christmas in Texas, now she knows.'

She followed him down the hall to the front door, and watched as he slipped his shoes on.

'Won't that be weird,' she said uncertainly, 'Me showing up on your arm again after all this time? Not to mention that your mother will no doubt have spread this little telephone incident to your entire family by then, too. That will be fun.'

He came over and wrapped his arms around her, giving her his most disarming smile.

'Come on, public humiliation is what the holidays are all about.'

She considered it for a moment. It would be awkward, there would be questions, and she would have to face people she had once called family -people whom she had not seen since before she walked out on her marriage. And this was still new, between them. She wasn't sure she was ready to face all of that yet.

'I'll think about it,' she said. 'I'm not promising anything.'

His smile widened - she knew that conceding even that much was half the battle won for him - but he didn't press her, he just shrugged.

'No rush.'

And this, she thought, was why it might just work between them, this time.

'I've gotta go,' he said then.

'I'll see you in there.'

She hooked her fingers in the collar of his shirt to pull him down for a kiss.

'Bye, Mrs Kilmer,' he called as he ducked out the door.

She smiled as she went back into her bedroom to finish getting ready. For some reason, it didn't bother her nearly as much now when he called her that.

end

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